


frank’s red hot

by subtlewanda



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tropes, i know there isn't much of a description but just trust me, like the most fluff ive ever written probably, so enjoy it while it lasts, there's popcorn and bucky and kissing, you don't need any more description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlewanda/pseuds/subtlewanda
Summary: dating sucks, but bucky doesn’t.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	frank’s red hot

**Author's Note:**

> posting from tumblr. just some cute fluff to lead into the new year. not my best, not my worst, i guess. follow me on tumblr if you'd like, @subtlebucky

Dating is hard. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been doing it, how often you do it—it feels like it never gets easier. And when you can’t ever seem to get a call back for a second date, that feeling only intensified into a cancerous mass of anxiety.

Dating is hard, and you’re tired, and as _sweet_ as Bucky is, you really want to be left alone with your dairy-free ice cream and your google searches on weirdly good popcorn combos. So, when you hear a knock on your door, and his gentle voice filter through, you don’t let yourself melt like you usually do. “Open up, [Y/N].” You hold your breath, knowing his hearing is enhanced, and knowing he _absolutely_ knows you’re home.

A moment passes, and he sighs. You hear the front door creak, and imagine him leaning against it. “Honey, I know you wanna sit in your sorrows, and I know you wanna be on your own, but I promise I’m not here to interrupt.” You can hear the creeping of a smile in his voice. “Ruminate all you want. I’m just here to bring pity-party supplies, sweetheart.”

He’s too good.

You’re trying to hide a smile of your own as you let him in. As he grins wides at you, you wish, briefly, that it was this easy to be yourself around _any_ of the people you’ve been on dates with.

That’s a little too close to a confession for your comfort, though, so you push past it as he shoves inside.

“You have a key, you know,” you speak to him as he starts to settle, putting your ice cream back in the freezer and tucking the popcorn ideas away for later.

“Yeah,” he says, already sorting through the four bags now on your small kitchen table, “but I’m not actually coming in unless you want me to.” He shrugs. “Simple as that.”

_You always want him to_ , your mind adds before you can repress it.

He’s moving around you suddenly, gently scooting you to the side to access your fridge and find space for certain items—chocolate and strawberry sauce, butter, _pickles?_

You’re confused, but you question him on something else. “How did you know I was out of butter?”

His ears turn red, as they do when he’s caught being observant of you. You can’t say you don’t find it endearing, even if the implications are scary. “I mean… I just… I was here last week, I remembered you saying something about running out when we made those cookies.” He’s not looking at you, acting very interested in the contents of your fridge and where each refrigerated item should go. “I was just out. Figured you might need some.”

The warmth in your chest is almost pleasant the longer you let it stick around, you decide. Before you can tease him anymore, he turns back to the bags and pulls out a clear bag of popcorn kernels. “Plus,” he tosses it to you. “We’ll need it for the popcorn.”

~

The popcorn is a disaster.

Bucky is getting the ingredients together while you pop the kernels, but your kitchen is not made with any super-soldier in mind, let alone the clumsiest one. He’s trying to melt a bit of peanut butter in your microwave. When you think the oil is heated at a reasonable level, you’re shifting to reach for the bag you had set to your right when metal touches the now-exposed skin of where your shirt has ridden up.

A shudder runs up your spine before you can stop it, and you know he notices when you feel his fingers flex in their loose hold on your waist. He isn’t directly aligned behind you, but you can feel his breath coming down on your right shoulder. You’re trying to focus on keeping another shiver away when he _finally_ speaks up. “Sorry,” his voice is quiet. “Didn’t want to burn you.” He still has the assumingly very hot bowl in his flesh hand.

You clear your throat, and the moment is over.

Yeah. _Disaster._

You’re settled on the couch now with your respective bowls. Bucky makes the chocolate sauce and melted peanut butter as a ‘dessert flavor,’ while he goes for classic salt and butter. Your flavor does not seem to be his cup of tea. “For someone who’s lived through a couple centuries, you’re kind of a wimp.” Your own bowl sits in between your crossed legs.

He rolls his eyes. “I like hot sauce. You’re just gross.”

“That’s not gross, baby,” you grin around a mouthful of popcorn, Frank’s Red Hot, and parmesan, “that’s taste.”

“Whatever you say, honey.”

You aren’t sure how long you stay stealing glances at him, just to see if he’s still looking at you as you scroll to find something to watch. Every time, he is.  
You don’t remember when things between you and Bucky shifted, really, but you can’t pretend you haven’t noticed the changes. They’re small, admittedly, but you know him—small changes are big ones, so it’s hard not to read into things.

It’s even harder when you kind of _want_ to read into them.

He still isn’t able to be over all the time. Not as often as he expresses he wants to, at least. So he calls. He calls a _lot_. You went from talking once or twice every couple of weeks to video chats once every one or two days, if he gets the chance, and goodnight texts. _Goodnight texts._

You know you sound ridiculous, you get it, but you also know that there’s a part of you that really wants to know if any of it means as much to him as it does to you. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, you already have the answer. Which is why it’s scary as fuck in the first place.

He catches you offguard while you’re in your thoughts. “So… what happened this time?”

You sigh. _Alright_ , you think, _let’s get this part over with._ You set your bowl on the coffee table in front of you, and he does the same. You turn your body to face his. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, dude.”

He raises a brow at you. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Alright, yeah, I get it,” you groan as you move to pace. “ _I’m_ fine, the dates just don’t work out, _they’re_ the problem, whatever,” you stop to look over at him so he can see the slight desperation on your face–the vulnerability there. “But there has to be a pattern if I’ve been actively dating again for four months—four _months_ , Bucky—and it’s all been fruitless!” Before he can say anything, you take a quick breath and then start your pacing again. “And the pattern is _me_ , I’m the one with the issue. I know it has to be me because I’ve tried changing things to be a little more appealing to the masses, or at least the general dating population here, and—”

“Excuse me?” Bucky’s tone makes you pause in your walk. “ _Changing_ things about yourself?”

He doesn’t sound mad, per say. More frustration, as if he’s almost genuinely surprised that you would do something like that. You go to correct yourself. “No, not like that.” The look on his face hardens, and you rush to rectify the slip up. “It’s not as serious as you’re making it out to be.”

His stare stays static. “It sounds serious to me.”

You have to be conscious of another shudder trying to make its way up your back at his look, because now is _not_ the time, as you respond. “It isn’t! I swear. It’s… little things.” You let a breath out, and even if he looks upset still, you can tell he’s listening to you. “I just… try not to be too loud, since I know that can be obnoxious, try to watch my excitement at some stuff, because I feel like I can get too excited about it and it’s a turn off, you know?”

“You’re amazing the way you are, [Y/N].” His words are sweet, but there’s an edge to his voice, daring you to disagree. “If someone can’t see that, then they can fuck off.”

You groan internally. _He’s more stubborn than you are._ “Buck, you can’t…” You take a beat, and after a moment, you give him a half smile. “I appreciate that. I do. But…” You feel yourself start to tense up. “But you don’t _get it_. Nobody…” And he looks like he knows what you’re about to say, wants to challenge you before you even say it. You laugh at nothing. “Bucky. Nobody wants me like that, okay? So–”

“I do.”

It shouldn’t take you so long to take in two words, three letters. You shouldn’t get so hung up on them, but you’re processing them–the meaning they hold, the way he says them in the first place; no room for argument.

He says them, and you think he might mean it.

_Shit._

He sees the gears turning in your head, but he also notices your lack of response. He tries to backtrack, almost. “Look, I meant it, but honestly, I have no idea how you didn’t know.” You go to interrupt him, but he speaks up before you can. “Every time someone asks me about you, they ask if I’ve told you already, so… I have now. That’s cool.” He clears his throat. “What do you wanna watch?” He grabs the remote, scrolling too quickly to actually be able to see any of the titles. _Jesus Christ_ , you think. You hate how much you like him like this.

You answer his question with another. “Can I kiss you?”

He blinks. You blink. And then, somehow, you end up in his lap and his lips taste like butter and _Bucky_.

~

You’re laying on the couch, head propped up on Bucky’s chest as you eat popcorn. Bucky smiles down at you, slow and easy, arm lazily tracing up and down your back. You can’t help it when he smiles at you like that, so you lean up and kiss him again. He licks his lips when you pull away and hums. “The combo doesn’t taste _that_ weird, I guess.”

You laugh at him, and his smile grows at yours. “Told you.”

There’s another moment of comfort that passes the two of you before he speaks again. “You could’ve figured it out sooner, you know.”

“You could have _told me_ sooner.”

“There were tons of times that I might as well have.”

“But we both know I’m a dumbass.”

“… Yeah, alright.”


End file.
